


Gone

by TheSigyn



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 14:11:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4525032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSigyn/pseuds/TheSigyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack was alive! Jack was alive, and Ianto finally knew what he wanted. Gone was the debilitating grief. Gone was the rage. Gone was the terror. Gone was the denial and the disgust and the confusion. He belonged to Jack, now, and he only hoped he would have the courage to admit it. Takes place after End of Days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gone

  
  
Coffee. Ianto was always getting coffee. But he didn’t mind. He was too elated. Jack was alive!   
  
The moment of their reunion had been sweet beyond words, as Jack quietly and without fuss threw aside all closeted pretense and drew Ianto into a heartfelt hug. As he held his head and kissed him with such loving tenderness that Ianto didn’t even care that everyone in the hub now knew, without a doubt, that they’d been sleeping together. He supposed it didn’t matter — Owen had more than hinted that he already knew, anyway, and frankly if even self-centered Owen knew than the others had probably guessed, but had more tact.   
  
Ianto had wrapped Jack in his coat — the coat that Ianto had been secretly holding and crying into, breathing in the remnants of Jack’s scent. Jack had looked so tired and cold. Ianto couldn’t wait for the others to leave that evening, so that he could take care of Jack properly. He checked the coffee from the barista, to make sure he’d gotten it right, and returned to the hub with Owen and Tosh. He could hardly breathe, he was so anxious to get back.   
  
Ianto knew just what he’d do.   
  
After the others left, Ianto would turn to Jack and hug him. Hug him properly. They’d never hugged before today. It had never been that kind of relationship, but it should have been. It should be. Ianto only hoped he could keep himself from crying in relief. Losing Lisa had been like being sliced open, but losing Jack had been like dying. Ianto had gone numb, and everything had turned grey. He was afraid of what the pain would have been like once the shock had worn off. The shock would go, and up would come all the regret, and then the pain. Again. Life was grief.  
  
But he had his second chance, and the fear was gone, and Jack was back, and Ianto would put his arms around him like he’d never let go. He couldn’t wait to feel Jack’s strong arms around him in return.   
  
Jack usually knew what Ianto was feeling. Ianto had no idea how Jack did that, but he did. Maybe he’d say something like, “I know,” in response to Ianto’s desperation, breathe it into his ear, send shivers down Ianto’s spine. Ianto hoped he would, because he wanted to reply, “I didn’t. I didn’t know. Jack....” And Jack would kiss him, and let him know he didn’t have to say it, because saying it was so hard for Ianto.   
  
Oh, it would feel so good to hold him properly. The hate was gone — utterly and completely gone — and the grief he had felt for Lisa was so soft now. It had been bled off by so many hours with Jack, tearing it out of him drop by drop, like puss out of an infected wound. The wound was closed — why hadn’t he noticed that it had closed? He was scarred, but Ianto was no longer bleeding, no longer festering, and it was time to turn and give Jack everything.   
  
Everything. Oh, yes. Ianto closed his eyes. He’d thought he’d been submitting to Jack, but until now he’d always held an icy corner of himself apart; angry, defiant, uncertain and disturbed by everything the two of them were doing. That corner was gone, that icy uncertainty had melted, and Ianto knew that he wanted nothing more than Jack. All of Jack. Not just the heavy passion of their mindless fucking. He wanted to make love to him, kiss him so tenderly, run his fingers through his hair.   
  
He’d take him down to the bed — oh, that bed! Ianto longed for that bed — and run his mouth across Jack’s throat, let his fingers caress his jawline, whisper his name, “Jack. Jack,” over and over again until Jack’s supple mouth slid into a smile. A smile that Ianto would kiss, swallow inside, fall into. His hands would find those buttons, and slowly — ever so slowly — tease them open, revealing Jack’s wonderfully muscled chest. The strength of his scent when his shirt was opened was always something that made Ianto want to swoon. He’d let himself do it, now, melting down to bury his face in Jack’s flesh, kissing and nuzzling it. Jack would probably laugh. After all, Ianto was the one so angry and griefstruck that everything had become tainted with violence. Now that all that violence was gone, Jack would probably find it funny.   
  
But he’d be pleased. Ianto knew he would. Ianto knew Jack was lonely, and Ianto was going to do everything in his power to change that now. Which wasn’t to say that their lovemaking would never again become violent — the passion had its charm, after all — but tonight, tonight Ianto would give him all the gentleness and tenderness he’d been holding back. The same tenderness he used to show for Lisa. It was Jack’s now. Everything, Ianto almost admitted, was Jack’s now.   
  
What would Jack give him in return? Those moments that Ianto had always run away from, when Jack was so sweet, when his touch was so soft that it made Ianto’s heart ache. All those moments he’d never let finish these last few months. Jack could give them to him now, and Ianto would accept them, his trepidation gone. So with Ianto’s head in Jack’s chest, Jack would probably run his fingers through his hair, slide his hands down Ianto’s collar, slowly work open his tie. It wouldn’t take long before Ianto couldn’t take it and let Jack strip him down. Oh, the feel of his chest against Ianto’s was going to be bliss.   
  
Ianto wanted to offer himself completely. He’d pull Jack’s trousers down and take his cock into his mouth like it was icecream, licking it sensuously, letting his hands slide down Jack’s buttocks, along those hard muscles, maybe gripping his nails into them. But gently. Nothing angry tonight. Only rejoicing in Jack’s survival, reveling in his flesh.   
  
Ianto wouldn’t have even minded letting him finish in his mouth, though he wasn’t sure how he’d react. Maybe he wouldn’t try that far tonight — it was an experimental thing, and he didn’t want anything to taint their evening together. Maybe it wouldn’t, though... maybe it would be wonderful. He’d wait and see.   
  
In either case, he’d kiss his way up Jack’s chest when he was done, ending at his mouth, hovering over him, Ianto’s cock — he knew he’d be hard as a rock — pressing into Jack’s stomach. Maybe Jack would take over then — it was in his character — rolling Ianto over and holding him down, his weight a heady, sensual comfort that always made Ianto close his eyes with a sigh. Jack could have his throat, then, work his mouth into Ianto’s flesh, maybe marking him as his. Oh, Ianto wanted that. He wanted to be Jack’s.   
  
Ianto would open his legs, then, shift his body, leave himself open for Jack to penetrate. He tried not to imagine each thrust, the sound of each of Jack’s passionate breaths as he pushed himself again and again inside him. The daydream was making it hard to breathe, and Ianto’s knees were trembling in anticipation. Because Jack wouldn’t leave it like that. He loved watching Ianto come. He’d lick his hands and grab Ianto’s cock and slide up and down, rolling it between his fingers, dancing over the tip. He’d hold it against his body and let Ianto feel each thrust as he pushed inside. Ianto wondered how long it would take before he crested and spurted all over Jack’s hard stomach muscles, accompanied by the sound of Jack’s triumphant chuckle.   
  
Ianto would take hold of Jack’s hips, help him fuse himself inside him, until Jack would come too, inside him, filling him, and Ianto could enjoy the look of ecstacy on his face. Then Ianto would take over from there.   
  
He’d tuck Jack into the bed, blessing his sweating body with tiny kisses, and insinuate himself alongside him, their legs entwined, their bodies woven into each other. Then Ianto would open his mouth and admit how he felt. How empty the world had seemed without Jack. How much he wanted to be part of his life. How he didn’t need to hide anymore, not even from himself. He wanted to admit to Jack that all the impediments were no more. Gone was the debilitating grief. Gone was the rage. Gone was the terror. Gone was the denial and the disgust and the confusion. He belonged to Jack, now, and he only hoped he would have the courage to admit it. Now, tonight, coming back from a long and probably very real feeling death, Jack could probably accept it. Ianto knew he could.   
  
All the fear was gone.   
  
Ianto held Jack’s coffee anxiously, wondering how long it would take before all the others would leave. And the hub airlock opened on a bewildered looking Gwen, staring around the hub as if searching for something. “What’s going on? Where’s Jack?” Owen asked.   
  
“He was just here,” Gwen said, perplexed. Then, as if she’d only just decided it was real, she said, “Something’s taken him. Jack’s gone.”   
  
  
***  
  
  
The others left soon after that. There had been a row about what to do, who would be in charge in this situation, but Ianto left them to have that discussion. They didn’t want his opinion, anyway. He slipped into Jack’s office and made sure any secrets were securely locked away, changed a few passwords, and waited for them to “decide” who was in charge. They never realized that it was always the keeper of the keys who ran the place, not the man who wore the crown. Never mind. He didn’t want them interfering. Let them fight over the title of leader.   
  
Eventually they left to their respective homes, and Ianto waited for Jack to come back.  
  
And waited.   
  
And waited.   
  
Finally he was too exhausted to wait anymore, so he climbed down the ladder to Jack’s bed, and stripped down to his underwear. He curled up inside Jack’s sheets in a circumstance not at all like he had imagined earlier in the day. The pillows smelled of Jack. The whole bed smelled of Jack. Ianto held himself rigid, trembling as he forced back the tears, as all the joy at Jack’s return, all the grief from his death, all the regret over the their last months, and every one of Ianto’s dreams dropped stillborn into those two quiet, brutal words.   
  
“Jack’s gone.”  
  



End file.
